


Sweet Implications

by RuckyStarnes (GracieForeth)



Series: Canon/Non-Canon ships [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 08:23:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17700848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GracieForeth/pseuds/RuckyStarnes
Summary: Natasha and Sam are on an assignment in Mexico to take down a drug lord. Everything went down as planned and Natasha now looked forward to a hot shower and sleep.





	Sweet Implications

**Author's Note:**

> This use to be named Sangria and was going to be two parts, but I just merged it after doing a massive editing

For the fourth time that night, Natasha caught Sam looking at her across the outdoor bar. They were on a mission to take down some lowlife drug lord in Mexico; Natasha was suppose to lure him and subdue him and Sam was backup.

“Wilson, you’re supposed to be back up,” Natasha teased into the com, “not watching me.” She took a sip of the sangria she’s been nursing for the last hour. Their intel told then that their mark would be coming to this particular cantina in the evenings, but he never had a schedule. So every night, Natasha would sit at the same table, wearing a different sundress each time. Sam would note to himself how fantastic she would look in each feminine one; how she haphazardly piled her hair on her head, the few loose tresses caressing her bare back and shoulders.

“Well, you are the bait,” Sam countered, a smile across his face, his glasses hiding his eyes. “I would be bad backup if I took my eyes off of it.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes in his direction, lifting her glass once again to take a rather large sip of the wine concoction. She wouldn’t admit it out loud, but Sam looked good in the light blue short sleeved button down and khaki shorts. “Call me bait again Wilson,” she glowered at him.

“Oh, c'mon Nat, you know I’m joking,” he chuckled. He raised the glass of beer in her direction. “But you are beautiful,” he finished.

Natasha rolled her eyes, but she could feel her cheeks heat up and she mentally scolded herself for letting Sam get to her like that. It’s not like she enjoys having a cold hearted bitch exterior, but it kept her from getting hurt. “Focus, Wilson,” she chided as she turned around and leaned back against the bar.

“You think I can focus better looking at your back?” Sam asked. “Still beautiful from behind.” She could hear the smirk through the com.

“Would you just do your job?” she sighed, frustrated. It was almost as bad as dealing with Stark. Almost.

“Yes ma'am,” Sam replied with a teasing tone.

Natasha eyed the crowd, not seeing their mark and she was starting to get perturbed that they have been wasting all week on a chance that they will find this guy. Frustrated, she downed the rest of her drink, not seeing the look Sam gave her

“Quieres otra señorita?” the bartender asked from behind her.

Natasha shook her head and got up from the stool she’s been occupying for the last two hours. “Sam, I don’t think he’s coming tonight,” she said and took a step, tripping on the stool next to her. A hand grabbed her forearm while another was at the small if her back. Her head shot up to have her green eyes meet those of a stormy gray.

Well, damn. I guess tonight’s the night, Natasha thought as she smiled at the man who was their mark. All she had to do is get him alone so SHIELD could apprehend him without incident.

“Se encuentra bien, señorita?” the man asked. He was definitely not Hispanic as his skin was olive colored, thick, dark brown hair, and his accent was that of the Mediterranean region.

She was in the hands of Cyril Zografos.

Natasha gave her best smile. “Thank you. Those sangrias are rather potent,” she spoke, portraying the innocent look and naïvity of a tourist. And it worked.

“Yes, they can be,” Zografos said in English. He held her arm until she regain her balance and she gave him a shy smile.

“Thank you, señor,” she whispered, making herself blush.

Zografos gave her a charming smile. “I’m Cyril. Were you leaving? If not, I wouldn’t mind the company of a beautiful kyría such as yourself,” he offered.

“Kyría?” feigned Natasha as she twisted a lock of hair around her finger. She knew the meaning, but what ‘American’ knows Greek when they hear it?

“Lady in Greek. I’m from a small town in Greece and only moved to Puerto Vallarta a few years back for a change of scenery,” he explained, and she acted surprised even though she knew everything about this man. “Why don’t you sit awhile with me. Would you like another sangria or maybe a margarita?”

It wasn’t an offer, but a command, and any one, agent or not, could hear the danger in his tone if you refused. Natasha nodded and chose a sangria, her eyes glanced around for Sam, but she was unable to find him.

Damn it, Wilson. This is not the time, she thought to herself. She was going to kill him if he found some pretty girl to distract him, and she was using the excuse of poor mission etiquette for that feeling.

“So, what’s your name, kyría?” he asked, thanking the barman setting a beer down in front of him and a sangria in front of Natasha.

“Natalie,” she responded, twirling the red lock again.

“Ah, you are a gift from God,” Zografos said with a smile. Natasha smiled and blushed like any normal person would, but she was fighting the urge to roll her eyes. The man was terrible with flirting and Natasha wasn’t one to be flirted with; she did the flirting herself. She forced herself to listen Zografos talk about anything and everything, trying to impress her. She would nod and raise her eyebrows at the right time, yawning on the inside. He was trying hard to impress her, and she was going to feign being impressed. He was very sure of himself and was working to get her to go back to his room.

Her thoughts were broken to Sam’s voice in her ear.

“Just get him alone, Red,” her partner said. She resisted the urge to clench her jaw. He knew she hated being called that. Of course he was going to take the opportunity to call her it when she can’t kick his ass.

“Well, it’s been a pleasure, Cyril,” she said sweetly, getting up from her chair, only to be stopped by his hand on her wrist, gripping her rather harsh for a man who was trying to impress a woman he had just met. It took all her will to keep her muscle memory from kicking in.

“Please, let me walk you back to your room,” he offered, and Natasha smiled at him, nodding. What better opportunity. Her room was nowhere in the area of the resort that she walked, but it was best to be far away from others in case things went south. They rounded a corner and Natasha caught a glimpse of a blue shirt behind a tree and she smiled, pleased that Sam was already in position. She stopped in front of a random room and turned to Zografos ready to bid him goodnight, but he pinned her against the door, his mouth next to her ear, hands on her hips.

“Sas thélo, kai tha échete,” he whispered as his hands slid from hips to cup her ass. Before she could even process, she saw Zografos fall to the ground, seeing Sam in place where he once stood, syringe in hand.

“You alright, Red?” Sam asked, his brow furrowed as he capped the syringe.

“I’m fine, Wilson,” she responded vehemently, as the door behind her opened. Two people in tactical gear emerged, assessing Zografos. Her part was done and there was no need for her to stick around. SHIELD had their man now, and there wasn’t a part of her that wanted to be around Sam a moment longer than required. He grated her last nerve with the last utterance of that awful nickname he loved to call her. “I’m just going to go back and wash his stench off of me.”

Before Sam could get a word in, she stormed off towards the room she was resided in. Her mind swarming with how did she let Zografos get that close and have the upper hand. She was perfectly alert the whole way until she saw…

“Проклятье,” she swore as she opened her door, the handle slamming into the wall behind it, knocking some of the poor-excuse of drywall loose. With a loud slam of the door she stalked across the small room, reaching the bathroom in just seconds. She needed a hot shower and a bottle of whiskey. There was too much she didn’t want to think about and she only had hours to decompress before being stuck in an airplane with the man who drove her crazy, and not in a good way.

Natasha walked out of the bathroom half an hour later, fresh out of the shower, and made her way to her duffle to retrieve underwear. She slipped the black lace garment on then threw on the black tank top. She took her hair out of the towel that was in a lose turban and started to squeeze the excess water from her hair before she combed it. The comb barely was on the end table when there was a knock at her door. Her ballet training was made for this particular scenarios: going undetected as she quickly light footed to the door, grabbing the gun she had stashed away behind the chair cushion when she arrived. She was about to peek through the hole when a voice stopped her.

“C'mon, Red. You can put the gun away, it’s just me.”

She groaned internally as she put the gun back, and unlocked the door to open it. “What do you want, Wilson?” she asked, closing the door after Sam entered. He was only wearing a pair of basketball shorts that hung dangerously low on his hip, and she had to tear her eyes away before he noticed. получить контроль, Romanoff, she chided to herself as she stepped aside to let him in.

“Can’t I check up on my partner?” he asked, his umber eyes quickly raked over her body, and she felt even hotter under his gaze. She scolded herself for letting him get to her like this, knowing he was just a huge flirt: all talk, no action.

“I’m fine. Just going to to bed,” she answered. “Good night.” She turned away from him, feeling heat rise to her cheeks and down her neck, letting him to see the door to himself. She started to braid her shoulder length hair as she stood in front of the bathroom mirror.

Sam didn’t move; he stayed rooted in the middle of her room, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Why are you so cold, Red? And don’t you tell me it’s because you’re Russian. You haven’t been Russian since what? 2002?”

“2004 actually, but that doesn’t matter,” she said quietly from the bathroom. “And I’m not cold, just have trust issues.” She emerged from the small room, arms crossed over her chest as she fixed a hard gaze on him.

“Kind of need trust to be working with someone,” Sam replied as he sat down in one of the chairs by the small table. Natasha walked towards him, plait over her shoulder, and rolled her eyes.

“There are five people in the world I trust with my life irrefutable,” she said lowly, holding up a finger for each person, “James, Clint, Fury, Coulson, and Steve. Now, I put up with you and your bantering only because Steve trusts you, but that doesn’t mean I have to trust you.”

“Being a spy since you were in kindergarten has made you cold, you know that?” His voice was low, and the look he gave her was one that she had never seen him give her.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Sam?” She was annoyed and just wanted to lie down after having to spend most of her time sitting in the most uncomfortable chair she had the pleasure of using. “Are you going to tell me that I am incapable of being empathetic and all that next? I am empathetic and I do care, I’m just tired and listening you call me Red has fried my last nerve.” Sam gave her another look she was unable to decipher which in turn made her growl in frustration. “And you give me these looks that are just irritating as fuck.” Her answer was a chuckle, and for some reason it was the last straw. Her hand moved before she could reason with herself, looking for the satisfying smack of it connecting with the side of his face, instead, his fingers wrapped around her wrist, stopping the impact by mere millimeters, which astounded her. He didn’t say anything, just stood, holding onto her wrist as if she would try again as he brought himself to his full stature and leaving little room for her to move.

Confusion washed over as she took a step back only for him to take one towards her, following her far as to have her backed into the wall. No one had ever backed her into anything and didn’t get a fight out of her, but she couldn’t with him. “Sam, what are you doing?” she breathed out as fear washed over. She could read people to the point of predicting their next move, but Sam was being an enigma for her. He was doing something she never could anticipate, getting close to her where it was way beyond personal.

“Natasha, for a brilliant woman, you are rather slow when a guy is flirting with you,” he replied, his voice lower than ever.

“Calling me Red isn’t flirting.” She tried to sound like her normal self, but her voice was soft and airy. She could have slapped herself for sounding like some lovesick teenager, and she knew she wasn’t. Right?

“Do you need a more direct approach?” Sam asked, voice dropping another octave as he leaned in. She could feel his breath fan across his face, the heat from his body through the thin material of her shirt..

“To what?” There was the gusto she was looking for when he first arrived, but before she could even smirk, he closed the small distance between them, his lips gentle against hers. He was being a gentleman, even if he was taking the lead. His grip on her wrist loosened, which meant he was giving her the freedom to push him away, to have an out. But she didn’t want that. This chaste kiss sparked something in her, and instead of rejecting him, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing herself into him further. For once in Natasha’s life she didn’t think of the motives behind his actions and allowed herself to just feel. She ended the kiss, slowly pulling back to look him in the eye. He saw was her vulnerability and it scared her. Before she could even speak, he leaned in again and this time the kiss was deeper, his body pushing her up against the wall as his hands held her hips firmly. She parted her lips, allowing him access she rarely granted as her fingers slipped under the elastic of the shorts he was wearing. He never asked for more, knowing that if he did, it would spook her, and she never gave more than asked. Fingers roamed and lips moved off course a few times, leaving Natasha gasping for breath when he found the little spot just below her ear that sent waves of heat rolling through her body. He knew her somehow, where to suck and nip, how to hold and touch her.

“Sam,” she breathed, her hands holding onto his upper arms now, halfheartedly pushing him away. “I’m damaged beyond repair and really, this will not work out betw–” His finger silenced her, pressing against her lips in such a softness that Natasha hadn’t known in a long time.

“We won’t know that unless we try,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her jaw, lips trailing up so he could nip her earlobe, making her whimper, something she never did. “Just allow yourself to feel for once, Red. Turn off that gorgeous brain of yours and enjoy what is being given to you. What you deserve.” Lips began their descent along her her neck, his fingers pulling aside the neckline of the shirt so he could explore even more of her.


End file.
